Arrogance
by sourw0lf
Summary: Still, Uuryu couldn't understand why. Why didn't he approach him the next day, demanding an explanation? Why was he thanked? But what really got him the most… Why hadn't he followed? Slight yaoi, malexmale, IchiUury.


**This is a birthday fic for Uuryu Ishida, 6****th**** November, and very late.**

**Happy birthday, Quincy.**

**Warning: Contains mild yaoi, strong language.**

**Don't like, DON'T read.**

**Pairing: IchiUury (Ichigo Kurosaki and Uuryu Ishida.)**

**Bleach © Tite Kubo**

**I don't own anyone or anything Bleach. All rights belong to Tite Kubo.**

_A is for Arrogance

* * *

_

"_However, there is one condition. You must swear never to involve yourself with Soul Reapers again."_

Class 3-B was loud, ugly, annoying, arrogant, piercing, sloppy, arrogant, arrogant, _arrogant._ No, it wasn't class 3-B. Uuryu Ishida was not loud nor sloppy; not annoying nor arrogant. Certainly not arrogant. Neither was Orihime. Or Chad. Or Keigo – well, that could be fairly debatable. But this loud, ugly, annoying, piercing, sloppy, _arrogance_ was of a different caliber than Keigo Asano. This arrogance was loved by many – soaked up and devoured.

This arrogance was sour and tempered. It was tall with brown eyes. Thin with strength. And _orange. _Bright orange. An otherwise pleasant color was crushed under his heel like a bug. A bug with an external shell that never seemed to break. It would crack, it would scratch, it would weather down, but never break. These battles of souls were so much more literal than a sane person could take which made the Quincy question his own sanity. But this wasn't about him. It was about arrogance.

About Ichigo Kurosaki.

The once proud Quincy had never thought of the fifteen year-old as a friend, nor an acquaintance. He was never looked at as a foe, either, though. He was just another student hanging around waiting to graduate. But views changed, people changed, _souls_ changed. The discovery of the Soul Reaper built a hate that was strong but not fully there. His pride and revenge fueled his hate; for his master, his _grandfather_. But for himself he couldn't hate the teenager beyond that point. His reasoning was confused at all times. Reason told him to go by honor; reason told him to go by heart.

And that _arrogance_. An arrogance that fueled fires. Arrogance that told him to hate; arrogance that told him to comfort. Never had someone so composed and sure of himself been at such a loss. He risked his life for someone else's desires. And though he told himself it was for his own reasons; that he hated this man; he couldn't help but feel _strong_. He couldn't help but feel like he'd won even when he lost. His Quincy powers were lost because he wasn't ready. Because he was so determined to fight for someone on the fence. To fight for someone he barely knew.

Uuryu Ishida had never felt so strong when he was thanked. Even if he was supposed to hate Soul Reapers he couldn't fully hate this one. And with his last day to ever have contact with this man he sat in class 3-B, confused for the first time.

* * *

Uuryu was on his way home like every other day, book bag hooked on his fingers, slung over his shoulder carelessly. A plastic bag in hand with his sewing equipment; fresh from the racks. With a heavy sigh he brought a hand up to rub his eyes, bumping his glasses up as he did so. He was tired – mentally and physically. In no way was he ready for what he was getting anyway. Ignorance to his surroundings wasn't easy to take in. He wasn't used to this blankness. He was used to feeling Ichigo's spiritual pressure spike from his lack of control. He was used to Orihime's bright spiritual pressure spike when she would be near Tatsuki. This was just... Boring. If it wasn't for his lack of power he would be able to sense Ichigo running up behind him.

"Uuryu!" He heard the gruff shout. He froze in his path, eyes shifting around. He didn't face the other, running through his options. It was too late to run and he knew if he tried to act sick he would just get a blank stare and a smack to the back of the head. So he stood still, waiting to see what the other had to say.

The Quincy – former – was turned around by a jerk of his forearm, a calloused hand reminding him of the battles they both have fought. "What is it, Kurosaki?"

The look on the Soul Reapers face was that of a kicked puppy, though it was drowned away quickly with a scowl. "I was going to ask if you were okay. Lately you seem more depressed than usual."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Uuryu shouted, glaring up at the orange haired teen, his glasses gaining a glint in the sunlight. The Quincy flinched a little when he grip on his arm tightened, faintly wondering why the hand was still there.

"Shut up. Are you okay?" The question was posed as more of a command to answer than it was a freely open discussion. The hand on Uuryu's arm tightened further, the circulation to his fingers starting to stop dead in its tracks.

"I'm fine. I don't see why it's any of your business, though. Now let go, you're hurting me." The Quincy tried to wrench his arm from the grip but it didn't seem to faze the other, brown eyes staring holes into his face. He tried to pull his arm free again but this time the hand pulled back, causing Uuryu to drop his sewing supplies and fall against the other's chest. "I said let go, Kurosaki!" He shouted, his eyes widening when the other's head descended towards his own.

The head sewing champion of KaraKura high gasped, afraid he was going to be head butted or thrown to the ground. He was surprised – no, more than surprised when chapped lips forced themselves on his own, his thin frame becoming rigid and hollow. His eyes were wide, staring at the brown ones in front of him that were squeezed so tight pliers probably couldn't even open them.

Slowly the Quincy relaxed, his arm going limp in the other's grasp. He was confused. That's what he told himself when he reacted. He dropped the book bag he had slung over his shoulder, the dull brown bag falling off to the side with the spilled spools of thread and tiny needles he would probably never be able to find on the ground. His hobby seemed less important at the moment, though.

Uuryu felt his glasses start to slip down his nose from the amount of sweat that had started to drip from his skin out of nervous habit. When Ichigo realized the other wasn't fighting him he let go of the frail arm, knowing the spot where his hand was would be red – possibly bruised for a while. With the way Uuryu was built he wouldn't doubt it. Blue eyes slipped closed beneath thick glasses, which were bumped back up his face when Ichigo shifted their lips, his nose nudging them back up.

The once proud Quincy found his arm wrapped around a strong neck, a warm tug at his waist letting him know Ichigo was holding onto him like some hungry dog. That was like him, though. Loud, obnoxious, possessive. It was suffocating, and would get in the way of his pride. Regardless, he held on; leaned in.

And then he remembered his father's words. For a minute he was shocked into stillness, his eyes wide behind his thick glasses. He felt like he was choking on some kind of poison. He shoved the cause of his problems from him, panting for breath he'd rather not have taken. He glared at the shocked classmate of his, his glare quickly dissipating to a look of fear.

"You… You have to stay away from me… I'm sorry…," Uuryu grabbed the plastic bag, ready to run off. His wrist was grabbed once again, his head turning.

"Thank you," he didn't stay to listen why but instead ran off, not even sure of where he was going – his house was the opposite way.

* * *

Still, Uuryu couldn't understand why. Why didn't he approach him the next day, demanding an explanation? Why was he thanked? But what really got him the most…

Why hadn't he followed?

* * *

**This is super, duper late and it really just is for the A-Z challenge, not even for his birthday anymore. It's a lot shorter than I intended and if it doesn't make sense, please let me know. I had a whole idea for it then didn't write for a super long time so I forgot the whole point of it. Well, hopefully it didn't come out too horrible!**


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